Installment 012 [https://squirrel.dogphilosophy.net/Installment012.png]

Melissa was the first to speak up.

"That may be the most complex series of concepts Gruntle has verbalized since his adoption into our virtual clan. You seem to be having a good influence on him. A majority of his speech simply involves some variation of a demonically-inspired desire to fight or devour, or sometimes both, and not necessarily in that order."

Wikwocket sat back and considered the creature slumbering sprawled across the table in front of her. "So, he really is a demon?"

"Yes." interjected Bote, who up to this point had been listening without comment. "But not entirely. When we first met, when the excitement calmed down, I looked into his soul. There is undeniable fiendish spiritual heritage, but bound and co-mingled with something more benign. Al, do you recall our discussion on the mystery of the multiplicity of the singular self as revealed by the divine?"

"Oh, hello Philosopher Bote," Al answered, unable to resist the banter the discussion had prompted ever since, "Yes, I remember. Poor individual mortals like me can't understand."

"You are not meant to. That is what makes it a mystery. However the nature of this gnoll may guide your steps towards enlightenment."

Melissa reached up to adjust her spectacles and explained. "Yes, evidence thus far does lend support to the theory that gnolls were ordinary social beasts whose souls were... I suppose infested or colonized might be appropriate terms... by the spiritual essence of a very potent demonic entity. This was persistent enough to propagate throughout their lineage as an inherent part of their nature, through every generation to the present. Their original natural spiritual essence has remained strong enough to coexist with this fiendish essence at the same time." She raised both hands in front of her and put them together, interleaving her fingers. "My investigations suggest that the two essences are inextricably intertwined in his soul but still distinct, not dissolved into a single spiritual essence. In their normal feral environment the natural instincts of a mob of gnolls is easily bent towards killing and devouring by the intense demonic urge for violence." She used the fingers of her right hand to fold the fingers of her left into a rude gesture by way of illustration. "What we have done through careful, persistent conditioning is to strengthen and guide the natural social-animal instincts to establish more civilized...well, perhaps that's going to far, but at least behavioral habits that can function in polite society." The fingers of her left hand stretched out to press the right hand's fingers into a loose fist and enclosed it. She wiggled the enclosed fingers of the right hand as if they were trying to poke out between the enclosing fingers of the other hand. "This does not in any way subdue the demonic nature, which remains as vigorous as ever. This brings us back to our posting at the Pickled Swine."

Bote was nodding in understanding. "You are trying to find a socially-benign outlet for demon-Gruntle's drives."

"Precisely. As young and inexperienced as he is, he wasn't able to fully participate in our active adventuring much but we were able to give him plenty of opportunities to exercise his violent urges. Now, we're leaving that line of work behind, so even that is no longer available."

"Hunting and sparring helps, but it's not the same. He's getting kinda jumpy. Gotta let him go," said Grakthor.

"And you're desperate enough that you're eager to send him off with the first party that shows up?" asked Al.

"Oh, you weren't the first," Malagriel assured him. "Not counting any applicants who may have been deterred by the greeting Melissa set up at the gate, we've had two others before you. The first was a small mercenary band bound for the border with Sabbatalia to help deal with the foreign militias that have been testing the boundaries lately. They seemed decent enough for mercenaries but we didn't think the lifestyle would work for Gruntle. They agreed politely enough. The second bunch were..."

Malagriel frowned.

"A trio of bandits looking to expand into graverobbing," Bob bluntly completed for her with clear distaste.

"Yes. They were not good role-models. That interview didn't go well at all. Their ostensible leader depended far too much on intimidation for his status."

"Gruntle is remarkably unaffected by typical provocations," Melissa added. "We've taken great pains and even called upon quite a lot of divine guidance on how to best impress upon him that we're effectively a very large clan, spread out over a wide area and made up of all decent, civilized people, and so anyone he has never met before could be a clanmate. I believe he understands on a conscious level that this is more of a metaphor, but it's enough that he won't immediately assume a stranger is an enemy. For him, insults and even minor violence without lethal intent such as shoving or fisticuffs are simply forms of play. Actual threats of serious bodily harm to himself or known clanmates are a different matter."

"We managed to stop things before anyone died," said Malagriel.

"We shouldn't've. Won't next time," Grakthor grunted angrily.

Even Bob nodded agreement.

Malagriel continued. "Sadly, our experience over the years has been that most groups engaged in what would be considered 'adventuring' are either irregular militia for hire or random misfits looking for loot. And then there's you three."

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

"Don't give us too much credit. I'd be lying if I denied that opportunities for wealth are an incentive." Al admitted.

"Certainly, but that's not what drove you to choose this lifestyle, is it?"

Al looked to Wikwocket, who was still lost in thought, then to Bote, who nodded encouragement.

"It's kind of a long story, but I guess I owe you one after the one you gave us. See, my whole family has a knack for magic. I'll admit I also have a decent amount of talent for wizardry myself. I find the bookish life stifling though. I fantasized about running away to join the army since I was a young boy. When my parents made me start my formal education in magic, I decided to focus on learning things that would be useful for the sorts of basic chores I knew soldiers needed to be able to do, like fixing equipment and digging holes and carrying things. My father really didn't mind since he saw I was being diligent about it, but Mom was pretty disappointed that I wasn't trying to do anything flashy or dangerous. She's got a more innate affinity for magic and she can be kind of intense. I think maybe that's typical of sorcerers."

"Interesting," Melissa said, "Do you happen to know where her sorcerous heritage comes from?"

Bote was grinning with obvious amusement. "Yes, Al, you should tell our gracious hosts this story."

"I told you, I don't actually know!" Al pleaded. Bote leaned forward, insisting.

"Fine." Al finally said. He looked down at the table, embarrassed. "It's the same insane nonsense you hear about a lot of sorcerers. The family rumor is that great-grandma was a bard, and, well, there was this dragon..." He trailed off. "I don't know why anybody believes these crazy stories. How would that even work, dragons are huge and not even human-shaped. So, really, I don't know where it comes from."

"There are those that say they walk among us in the guise of ordinary folk, meddling in politics and commerce for their own secret ends." Bote said.

Al rubbed his forehead in aggravation. "Yes, yes, the lizard-people who secretly run the world. For all of the insight you usually show, it's shameful that you would believe any of these crazy conspiracy theories."

"I have met quite a wide variety of unusual people throughout my experiences, but I can honestly say I've never met someone who was secretly a dragon," Melissa agreed.

"As far as you are aware," Bote corrected.

Al made an effort to get the discussion back in its original direction.

"Anyway, as I was saying... a little over a year ago I finally did it. A regiment of the royal army was passing through the area so I snuck out and signed up. They stuck me with the other new recruits, slapped a badly-fitting set of leather armor on me, handed me a mace. They put me through basic training and had me do a lot of common labor that people often forget soldiers have to do. One day they caught me using magic to help me dig the latrine. I thought I might get in trouble when they took away the leather armor but then they gave me a chain shirt to wear and reassigned me to the quartermaster. There, they trained me in maintaining and repairing equipment and put me to work checking things for enchantments and curses. I didn't see much combat while I was there, but I got enough to at least confirm that I don't exactly like it, but I don't feel bad if I have to kill someone for a good reason."

"The very day before I was due to sign on for another year, I woke up to find my parents standing outside my tent. They told me they'd indulged me for a year and now it was time to come home. I tried to argue but they were very insistent. Father was just stubborn and Mom was...intense."

"Did she breathe fire?" Bote teased.

Al tried to be angry but...actually, she had. But that was just magic, anyone with the right spell could do that. He ignored Bote and continued.

"Not long after we got back I was in my hometown's tavern, complaining to the bartender about my situation and watching a traveling performer" - he gestured towards Wikwocket - "putting on an impromptu acrobatics act for tips. Then Bote came through the door, sat down at the bar, and insisted that they'd been sent there by divine command. Wikwocket overheard us talking and things were discussed and decided rashly right there over beers. So, to get to the point and answer the unspoken question, Wikwocket is in it because she was tired of telling stories about other people's adventures and places she'd never visited, and Bote is here because they believe they are enacting ineffable divine will...or maybe secretly working for lizard-people."

"Or both," Bote corrected, with a smirk that Al was pretty sure meant they were joking.

"And what about you?", Malagriel pressed.

"I just want to accomplish something noteworthy. Something of lasting value. Something more useful than he cast a big magic spell one day or he wrote a really long book detailing the differences between green three-headed filth-demons and greenish-brown three-headed filth-demons that perhaps 2 other people will ever even read over the next few millenia. I'm out here looking for what that something is."

Bob chuckled. "Becoming clan-sibling to a gnoll is pretty noteworthy, isn't it?"

"Not the kind of thing I had in mind, but, yeah, technically that is pretty unique. I'm still not sure this is a good idea. How much does he cost to feed?"

"He's a good hunter. Lot of times, he can feed you," Grakthor answered.

"He's also proven willing to endure hard labor. He's quite strong," Melissa added, "But it may help you if I clarify that we don't propose to simply dump him on you and send you away. There is compensation involved. We're willing to make some investment in your adventures. In exchange, though, we will expect regular correspondence. My research is still ongoing, and we've all grown fond of Gruntle and will want to know how he fares - along with yourselves of course. We will naturally want our share of whatever profits your adventures bring, in proportion reasonable for what we invest."

"That...does seem like a fair offer. I guess I'm not really opposed but..."

Al's last remnants of reluctance demanded one final speck of attention.

"It feels rude to ask at this point but I think I need to: what would be the risk of him killing and eating us someday?" Al asked.

Malagriel was the first to speak up. "The three of you? I feel that's very unlikely. He's clearly accepted you as members of our extended clan, and your temperaments and supportive relationships tell me that you aren't abusive to your party-members. The real danger for yourselves would be in provoking him into testing dominance in a way that escalates. Something tells me that's not going to be a problem with any of you."

"All right. It's not my decision alone though. Bote? Do you think we should?"

"I believe the ineffable divine plans call for it. Who are we to question the gods?"

"Right, of course. Silly of me to ask." Al looked over to Wikwocket, who had started absentmindedly scratching Gruntle's head again.

"What about you?", he asked her gently. "You still want to bring him with us?"

"...yes. I think so." Her usual cheerful expression returned. "We gnolls ought to stick together, right?"